* * *
They were eating dinner when Thom noticed Ben hadn’t said anything for a while. He looked up to see the other man staring at him with a little grin on his face. “What?” he asked. “Do I have something on my face?” He wiped at his chin with his napkin.
“Nope,” Ben’s grin widened. “But I think I finally figured you out.”
“Wh-what do you mean? Figured what out?”
“Well, not figured you all out. But I figured out something.”
Thom just raised an eyebrow.
“You’re shy!”
“What? Of course I’m not. I talk to people – even strangers. I have social skills. I’m not shy.”
“Not about everyday stuff, but you are shy about the intimate stuff. You’re definitely shy about sex. I think that’s why Ross likes winding you up so much – to rattle you. See – look – you’re blushing!”
“I’m not shy!”
“It’s okay, I think it’s cute when you get flustered and bothered,” Ben grinned.
“I am a grown man. I can talk about, well, you know.”
“Sex.”
“I do not have sexual hang-ups.”
“I didn’t say you did. You’re just not comfortable talking about it, and you blush when I do.”
“Well, I’m sorry if I’m not as laid back and casual about that kind of thing as your generation is.” Thom stabbed at his lettuce with his fork.
“My generation? There’s what, a ten year difference between us? You’re old enough to be my big brother, but not my father. Don’t act like you’re an old man.”
Thom glared at his salad and stabbed some more.
“Thom,” Ben reached over and took the fork from Thom’s hand, linking their fingers together. “Thom, I didn’t mean to embarrass you.”
Thom huffed and looked at their hands, resting together on the table.
“Really. There’s nothing wrong with being a little shy, as long as you can still open up about what you want. And in case it hasn’t sunk in, I’ll say it again. I think you’re charming, and cute…”
“I’m not cute!”
“Okay, okay. Handsome? Sexy? Can I say that?”
“I don’t know about sexy. Or handsome, either,” Thom said, feeling himself blush again, which embarrassed him even more.
“Your face is so red,” Ben scooted forward in his chair, leaning over the table to kiss Thom’s cheek and whisper in his ear. “Are you turning red everywhere?”
Thom ducked his head, “Geez, Ben.”
“Can I see?”
“Are you… you are! You’re trying to make me blush!”
“Maybe,” Ben chuckled. “So, can I? See?”
“You’re terrible! You’re – what’s the word? Incorrigible!”
“Incorrigible?!”
“It means—”
“I know what it means, thank you very much. It just sounds like something an old lady would say. How about, relentless?”
“Relentless?”
“Yeah, as in, if you think Ross is relentless, wait until you see me trying to get into your pants.”
Thom finally met Ben’s eyes.
“Also, it would be nice if you tried to get into mine without me pissing you off first. I don’t want to have to go out with Ross again.”
“I don’t want you to go out with Ross again either,” Thom admitted. He realized he’d said the right thing when Ben smiled, dimple and all.
“Excellent. So I won’t go out with Ross. We’ll both try to get into each other’s pants on a regular and frequent basis, and you can keep on blushing as long as I can call you cute.”
“Not cute,” Thom said, barely loud enough for Ben to hear.
“Okay, then,” Ben said, releasing Thom’s hand and going back to eating his dinner. “I won’t call you cute if you can look me in the eye and tell me exactly what you want to do tonight, in specific detail, after we go to bed.”
“Well—”
“In the same bed,” Ben specified.
“Um…”
“So. Fucking. Cute.”
* * *
The next Saturday morning, Thom was in the laundry room, moving a load of jeans into the dryer when he heard Ben coming down the stairs.
“Thom? You down here?”
“In the laundry room,” he called out.
Ben stuck his head in the door, “I’m going to head into town to check out that homebrew shop. You wanna come?”
“If you don’t need me, I’ve got a lot of chores to get done. I’ll come next time, okay?”
“Sure. I’ll be back by lunchtime.” Ben stepped into the room to give Thom a quick kiss before jogging back up the stairs. Thom admired the view as long as it lasted, then turned back to start the dryer. He knew he had a goofy grin on his face, but he didn’t care. There was no one here to see it.
Moments like that, when Ben kissed him as if it were the most natural thing in the world, made him feel like maybe this could become something real. In the week since their first night together Ben had teased him, flirted with him, pursued him, and made Thom feel like… like… he had no comparison. No one had ever made him feel like this before. But Ben hadn’t mentioned anything more about staying around, so maybe he had realized Thom was right, and that he probably would lose interest and move on eventually.
Thom’s grin faltered. That must be it. Ben was having a good time; that was all. Thom needed to remember this was for now, not forever. A little part of him had hoped Ben would put up more of an argument. But maybe this was better. He might have let Ben convince him – he sure wanted to be convinced – and then his heart would have been well and truly broken in the end.
He forced himself back up the stairs and grabbed some rags and bathroom cleaner from under the kitchen sink. If he started getting misty-eyed he could blame it on the cleaner fumes.
* * *
Ben parked on the street in front of the homebrew shop in Cable’s Bend, Bent Brewing Supply. He liked the name – it alluded to the town’s name, but also made him think of the shapes of brewing equipment itself, like coiled wort chillers and siphoning tubes. Or being drunk, or being gay, even. He couldn’t wait to get inside and check the place out. He wondered what the owner was like – he was guessing an aging hippy who couldn’t wait to open the shop the day after Jimmy Carter signed the bill making homebrewing legal.
The bell over the door jingled when he opened it and he didn’t see anyone at first. The front part of the store was on the small side, with smaller items in bins on shelves and some refrigerator cases for yeasts and hops. There was even a section spotlighting locally grown hops that he thought might be fun to try. There was an open archway leading to a large back room where he could see rows of grain bins and stacks of bottles and kegs and other brewing paraphernalia. A voice called out from the back room, “Be right there!”
Ben stood in the center of the room and looked around, enjoying the jumbled atmosphere. There was a register near the back wall and stickers and flyers for brewing competitions, gatherings, and local bands covered any available wall space. “No rush,” Ben called back.
A minute or so later a man came through the archway. Ben figured him to be in his late twenties. He was about Ben’s height, but lean, almost skinny, with hair a pale, silvery blond and pale blue eyes behind silver-rimmed spectacles. “Sorry to keep you waiting – I was filling some grain bins and couldn’t stop without spilling it everywhere.” He looked down and picked a few pieces of grain off of his navy blue cardigan.
“No worries, I was looking around. I like the shop.”
The other man looked up, blinking at Ben and then looking around the shop. “Uh, thanks. It’s mostly my dad’s doing. He owns the shop. Oh, I’m Al. Al Sorensen.”
“Hi. Ben Loomis,” Ben shook Al’s hand, surprised by the strength in the thin man’s grip.
“Oh. You must be Chuck’s nephew.”
“That’s what everybody says.”
“Sorry, it�
��s not a huge town and pretty much everybody knows Chuck around here.”
“It’s cool,” Ben shrugged it off.
“So, what can I help you with today?”
“Well, I wanted to pick up some basic equipment – just a small set-up so I can experiment with some recipes. Oh, and I have an ingredients list.” Ben pulled a folded sheet of notepaper from his back pocket.
“What kind of homebrewing experience do you have?” Al asked, unfolding the list and running his finger down it as he read. “Hey, this looks pretty good.”
“It’s a recipe a friend and I came up with. He was the more experienced brewer, and I helped him out. But he’s back in Texas and I wanted to get my own set-up going here.”
“Single or two-stage fermentation?”
“Two-stage.”
“Okay. Follow me.”
Ben followed Al through the archway into a large warehouse-style room with a bay door on the back wall. Rows of covered grain bins with signs and scoops were lined up in rows. There were scales and grain mills near the bins, and tall shelving units were against all the walls holding pre-measured malt syrup and other ingredients. Al had moved a few feet ahead, and Ben noticed he had a pretty nice ass for such a skinny guy. Lifting and moving all this stock must be pretty good exercise.
Al was looking at the ingredients list again and headed towards a display of stockpots and plastic buckets. “Have you got any equipment at all?”
“Nothing. My friend had all the equipment, so I’m starting from scratch.”
Al grunted and grabbed a box off a shelf. “This is a basic kit. It’ll get you started and you can add to it or replace stuff as you need it. What about a stockpot?”
Ben hadn’t found a suitable one in Thom’s kitchen or basement. “I’d better get one of those, too.”
Al sat a stockpot on top of the box and added a carboy to the cluster of items on the floor. “Okay, ingredients. Looking at this list I’m going to assume you’re going whole grain?”
“Yeah.”
Al walked Ben through the grain area and showed him how the mills worked, and once he was sure Ben knew what he was doing he headed back out front. “I’m going to see if we have these particular hops.” He said. “I might have a locally-grown substitute if you’re interested.”
“Yeah – I was thinking I’d like to try that. Thom had no idea there was so much hop farming going on around here.”
“Thom?”
“Yeah, Thom Caldwell. I’m working and staying out at his place. Do you know him?”
Al had a funny look on his face, like he was trying to decide what to say. After a moment he said, “I don’t know him, but I know who he is. He used to, um, run around with Ross O’Connor.”
“Oh, years ago.”
“Ross is doing work out there now, though. I figure, Ross being Ross, it’s just a matter of time…”
Ben laughed. “Ross and Thom! No way. Not going to happen.”
Al looked at him, eyebrows raised, clearly skeptical.
“Thom is totally Ross’s type, though,” Al said, his tone flat.
“Well, Ross isn’t Thom’s, and I am.” Ben paused to let that sink in. This guy was awfully interested in Thom. Or was he interested in Ross? One way to find out. “Why are you so interested, anyway?”
“I’ll go check on those hops,” Al said, turning and walking towards the front of the store. Ben finished measuring and grinding the grains, put them in a mesh bag, which he put in the stockpot, and joined Al in the front room.
“Look, I’m sorry. That was out of line.”
“No. I’m sorry.” Al pushed his glasses up with an index finger and started entering Ben’s items in the computer.
“If you have a thing for Thom, I’m afraid—”
Al looked up. “Thom? No! I mean, I’m sure he’s nice and all, but no. I don’t have a thing for Thom.”
Ben smiled. “That’s good, because I was not going to step aside graciously.”
Al smiled back.
“But if you’re interested in Ross, maybe you should just go for it, huh?”
“No,” Al shook his head. “We’re not... Never mind. Anyway, I’m sorry about all that, it was really unprofessional of me. Let’s talk hops, okay?”
“Sure.”
Ben left Bent Brewing with an armload of equipment and ingredients. He told Al he’d be back the next week to pick up some bottles and caps, and Al promised to put some aside for him. He drove home with a smile on his face. He had the whole day planned out – after lunch they’d get a batch of beer started, and after dinner he’d pin Thom down on the sofa and they’d make out like teenagers. Then he’d take Thom upstairs and finish the job.
Chapter 10
Ben was surprised when he opened his eyes Sunday morning to see light coming in the bedroom window. He was even more surprised to see that next to him, Thom was still asleep. Even though they allowed themselves the luxury of sleeping in that one day a week, they were both usually awake before the sun came up.
Ben studied Thom’s sleeping face. He looked younger when he was sleeping. Ben guessed that was because he was relaxed and not worrying about something. Ben liked the dark stubble that had grown in because Thom had been so busy the last few days that he had skipped shaving. Thom slept like he did most things – quiet and steady. He wasn’t a thrasher or a kicker, he didn’t hog the covers, and best of all he didn’t snore.
He checked the clock – it was late enough that the timer on the coffee maker would have gone off, but early enough that the coffee shouldn’t be burned, so he slipped out of bed and tiptoed down to the kitchen. He poured two mugs of coffee and headed upstairs with them, hoping to get there before Thom was out of bed.
His luck held, and Thom was just starting to wake up when he got back to the bedroom. “Good morning, sleepyhead,” he said, setting the mugs down on the nightstand and joining Thom under the covers.
“Wha’ time izzit?” Thom mumbled.
“About eleven-thirty.”
“What the–?!” Thom sat bolt upright and started pushing at the covers.
“Relax! Relax!” Ben grabbed Thom and pulled him back down. “I’m kidding! It’s not even eight. Oh man, you should have seen your face!” Ben turned his face into the pillow to muffle his laugh.
“Why, you—” Thom tried to pull Ben’s pillow away, but Ben held on tight. “You almost gave me a heart attack!”
Ben turned over to look up at his lover. Thom’s hair was sticking up and out on one side in a truly epic case of bedhead and his right cheek had red marks where he’d slept on a wrinkle in the pillowcase. He was a disheveled mess.
“You look absolutely gorgeous,” Ben said. “Want some coffee?”
“I what? No I don’t. There’s coffee?”
“On the nightstand, but you’ve got to go through me to get to it.”
Looking over Ben’s shoulder, Thom could see the two steaming mugs on the nightstand. He knew Ben was trying to goad him into morning sex, and to be honest he didn’t object, but right now he really just wanted that coffee.
“So, how about I make you a deal?”
“A deal? I don’t know. Is that anything like a proposition?”
“Sure.”
“An improper proposition? Are you propositioning me, Mr. Caldwell?”
“Um, yes?”
“I’m listening.”
“Well, how about you let me drink that coffee now, while it’s still hot, and then we can, um…”
“Go on…”
“We can do, well… We can do whatever you want.”
“Whatever I want? Anything I want?”
“Um, yes?”
“You must really want that coffee.”
“You have no idea.”
Ben handed Thom one of the steaming mugs with a smile. “You have a deal. Oh, sweetheart, you are going to turn so red when I tell you what I want.”
* * *
Ben rested his hands on Thom’s hips and looked u
p at his lover’s flushed face. At this point he couldn’t tell whether Thom was embarrassed or turned on, but he looked like he was having a good time, so Ben didn’t worry about it. When Ben had told Thom he wanted Thom on top, riding his cock, he thought Thom’s eyes might bug out of his head.
“I’ve never… I don’t… I’ve never done it that way,” Thom admitted.
“Neither have I – and I really, really want to. And you said anything.” Ben was not above pushing his advantage.
But here they were, and Thom was definitely enjoying himself, if the pre-cum leaking from his bobbing cock was anything to go by. Ben reached for it, swiping the drop with his thumb and bringing it to his lips for a taste. He looked up and saw Thom watching him with darkened eyes. Ben shifted his hips and Thom’s eyes closed, his own hips rocking as Ben hit his sweet spot. Ben was going slow, trying to draw it out, but he wasn’t going to last much longer.
“How you doin’, sweetheart?” Ben whispered.
“Good,” Thom answered, whispering as well.
“I don’t know how much longer I can last. Gonna speed up if that’s okay with you.”
Thom nodded.
“Will you touch yourself? I want to watch you jack yourself off.”
“Okay,” Thom whispered. Ben smiled – his man was quiet and steady at everything.
“Okay. Hold on tight, here we go.” Ben dug his heels into the mattress and starting thrusting harder and faster, his fingers digging into Thom’s hips. He heard Thom’s soft grunts, watched Thom’s hand fly as he jacked himself off, squeezing the head of his cock so tight Ben was surprised it didn’t hurt. Then Thom froze, his face twisted as he came, thick white cum spilling over his hand and onto Ben’s stomach. Ben could feel Thom’s muscles as they contracted and rippled around his cock. “Damn,” Ben breathed, just before his own release hit him and his eyes squeezed shut so tight he thought his eyelids might cramp up.
The next thing he knew, Thom was struggling to get off him. “What the–?”
Saving Grapes (Cable's Bend Book 1) Page 7
